


Ease My Mind

by rizcriz



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Oh hey backstory, The Magicians Rec Center Rare Pair Challenge, ew they're cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: Look. When your friends, who are too socially maladjusted to admit they’re your friends, ask you to watch your not crush while they go conquer some great evil across the planes of existence—you do it.You just. Need to ask more questions than Todd did.“When will you be back?”Margo’s hurried response of, “Can’t say. Just—read him what we wrote. He’ll start remembering when the fairy spell wears off and then demand you leave his presence for all of eternity. Just like normal.” hadn’t really been all that helpful when it comes to calming Eliot down.And it figured that Quentin and Margo had dashed back into the portal before Todd could even raise a finger to point out that maybe he’s not the best person for the job.--Prompt: Character A gets temporary short-term amnesia. Character B gets bored of constantly updating them on what's going on, so they start telling bigger and bigger lies to see what they'll believe.





	Ease My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> So . . . the prompt kind of got away from me. This fucker is ten times longer than intended, and is a disaster. So don't say I didn't warn you. 
> 
> **Also if Todd and Eliot end up related on the show this was written before that and is only ACCIDENTAL incest. If that doesn't happen, no worries no incest here.

Look. When your friends, who are too socially maladjusted to admit they’re your friends, ask you to watch your not crush while they go conquer some great evil across the planes of existence—you do it.

You just. Need to ask more questions than Todd did.

“When will you be back?”

Margo’s hurried response of, “Can’t say. Just—read him what we wrote. He’ll start remembering when the fairy spell wears off and then demand you leave his presence for all of eternity. Just like normal.” hadn’t really been all that helpful when it comes to calming Eliot down.

**** And it figured that Quentin and Margo had dashed back into the portal before Todd could even raise a finger to point out that maybe he’s not the best person for the job.

**** It’s not because he’s slightly head over heels, because that’s a ridiculous accusation and a total, outright lie. It’s just. Todd has a bad habit of screwing things up. Like. Epically. He didn’t go to Brakebills when the then second years vanished but he’s almost certain it’s somehow his fault. That’s how adept he is at screwing things up.

**** He lets his gaze swing across the room, to land on Eliot’s dozing form on the couch at the center of the living room. He’s so peaceful when he’s sleeping. If Todd didn’t know better, he’d think Eliot’s seconds away from waking up and kicking him out. But no, that’d be too easy. Trying to spend time with Eliot Waugh and relishing in the (not so?) playful fire in his eyes when he kicks him out, instead of trying to tell an amnesiac--for the third time--that hey, your friends are fine, they’re just kicking ass. And, oh, by the way, you’ve been hit with a short term memory loss spell.

**** Which, unsurprisingly, makes Eliot a whole lot less friendly.

****...Moreso than usual.

**** He turns around and heads to the kitchen to make them lunch. Eliot’ll wake up soon, and when he finds out there’s no alcohol, and that he’s been warded against conjuring any, he’ll be angry. But over the past three days, Todd’s at least learned that if there are fresh, home baked, chocolate chip cookies, his anger will be quelled to mild annoyance. Which, unlike amnesiac rage, Todd has plenty of experience with.

**** Not because it’s kind of endearing. Just because it’s Eliot’s baseline.

**** As he pours the flour into the bowl, he hears a groan, and then the tell tale sound of Eliot finding the note with the crinkling of paper as he unfolds it.

**** “What the fuck?”

**** Todd sighs, wiping his hands on his thighs, and leans over the side of the counter and peaks into the living room. Eliot’s sitting up with his legs tossed over the side of the couch, staring down at the note with a furrowed brow. He watches him for a second, before inhaling deep, and cheerfully calling, “In here!”

**** Eliots neck snaps around to look at him, and he blinks. The confused look on his face quickly fades to anger, and yep, Todd saw this coming. Mostly because it’s already happened exactly like this three times already.

**** But also because worried Eliot is slightly predictable.

**** He swallows, “I have cookies?”

**** Eliot waves the note about in front of him. “What the fuck is this?”

**** “. . . Not. Cookies?”

**** He stands up then, and crosses the room in five impressive strides before stopping in the doorway and offering up the most withering glare he’s ever given him. And, ah, yes. The reason Todd’s not the one for the job. He likes making Eliot notice him, but not like this. Not in the spine shuttering please don’t kill me way.  Shove me up against a wall and make me shut—

****. . . He needs a mute button for his brain.

**** “What did you do?”

**** He frowns at that. Okay, yes, Todd screws most things up, but damn it. He didn’t get Eliot hit with a memory wipe spell—he would have jumped in front of him before he could have gotten hit, if he had. “Why do you keep blaming me?” Day after day. It’s getting kind of old, and they’re only on day three. At some point he’s going to realize he’d never do anything to hurt him.

**** Right?

**** “Because you’re Todd.”

**** Damn it. “Okay, fair. But—for once, I’m not the culprit.” Why’d he say culprit? So stupid. He steps out from behind the counter. “I was just casually sitting on the couch doing nothing wrong, completely innocent, obviously. When your friends—”

**** “Which friends?” He all but snarls, and though some might find the gravely tone of his voice somewhat sexy—some that aren’t Todd, obviously because what kind of sicko would be turned on in a situation like this, definitely not Todd, that’s who—it’s a bit off putting. More than a bit. It’s fucking frightening. And not at all sexy.

**** So, Todd does what Todd does best.

**** “All right, calm down—”

**** He manages to make the situation worse.

**** “I’m not going to calm down!”

**** He heaves in a sigh, and with a self preserving roll of his eyes, he turns around to cast a spell on the cookie batter. He’s half way through when he hears a slightly confused, mostly irritated voice, tentatively ask from the doorway, “What are you doing?”

**** He glances back over his shoulder at him, “Well,” He says, with a final twist of his fingers, “If you’re not going to calm down, I want cookies.” His eyes flutter shut as the sweet smell of chocolate and sugar fills the room. “You’re welcome to some, too.”

**** Eliot narrows his eyes at him. “I don’t want cookies. I want an _explanation_.”

**** Todd just blinks once, before shrugging a shoulder and moving back over to the counter to plate the cookies.

**** He tries not to pump his fist in victory a minute later when Eliot reluctantly moves across the kitchen and sits on the stool in front of the counter to take a cookie from the plate.

**** If he pretends to drop something, and hides behind the counter to pump his fist in victory five minutes later, nobody needs to know. Especially not Eliot.

****

*

**** The next few days follow in the same pattern. Eliot wakes up frustrated and angry, then Todd calms him down with cookies. They eat them in silence, sitting across from one another in the living room And when they’re all gone, Eliot retreats to his room.

**** It’s nice.

**** Even if at least one thing in the cottage gets broken each day when Eliot wakes up.

**** At least none of those things are Todd’s heart.

**** Ha.

**** Like _that_ could happen.

****

*

**** Day eight goes much the same way, but Eliot doesn’t retreat to his room. Instead, he loiters in the living room, three cookies stacked in his palm, and watches Todd curiously.

**** “Do you just . . . calm me down every day?”

**** Todd nods, letting his head fall back to rest on the back of the jean bag chair—nobody else formally calls it that, but come on? It’s a bean bag chair made of jeans, it’s genius—and shrugs a shoulder as he reaches up to shove a piece of cookie in his mouth. “I try,” He says, once he swallows it. “Most of the time you just yell until the cookies are done, then go to your room. And then at the end of the day, I find you curled up on the couch with one of the empty bottles clutched to your chest. I put a blanket over you and then go to sleep and wait for the day to start over again.”

**** Eliot doesn’t respond for a long moment. But when he does, his voice is soft. “Have I said thank you yet?”

**** “No.” Todd lifts his head and points a warning finger, “And don’t even think about it. Eliot Waugh apologizes for nothing.” He shrugs again, “And besides. You’re the one with short term memory loss. I can’t really blame you.”

**** Eliot tilts his head, his brow furrowing like a confused kitten, before he sighs, all drama and no annoyance, and motions lazily with his free hand. “Fine, but I may as well keep you company today. We can go back to me ignoring you tomorrow.”

**** Todd blinks.

**** “Really?”

**** Eliot pretends to think about it before nodding again, and moving to sit on the couch. “But if anyone asks, I’ve never even heard of a Todd.”

**** A grin blooms across Todd’s lips as he nods dopily. “Fair enough. Do you like movies?” God, who doesn’t like movies? And he’s seen Margo and Quentin curled up on either side of him as they spelled a movie to project against the wall--of course he likes movies. There goes their--

**** “So long as there are no subtitles, I watch movies for the brainless fun of it, not to read. And there needs to be plenty of drunk people. If I can’t drink, I may as well live vicariously through fictional alcoholics.”

**** Holy shit.

**** Todd’s grin widens as he sloppily forces himself out of the chair. He falls to his knees and then jumps up with gusto. “I know the perfect movie.”

****

*

**** Day nine is a bad day.

**** Eliot has a panic attack after reading the note. Todd tries to comfort him, but all he gets for his efforts are a gash on the side of his head from an emotional telekinetic blast, and a door slammed in his face.

**** He sighs, sitting on the floor across the hall from Eliot’s door, and pulls his knees up to his chest.

**** Cookies might not be all that helpful today.

**** Still, an hour later when there’s still no movement, he gets up and heads to the kitchen to make a batch. And when the smell isn’t enough to lure Eliot out, he gently places a plate of them at the floor in front of the door, and heads to his own room.

**** (He pretends not to hear the door open, and the scrape of the plate as it’s picked up from the floor later in the night. Doesn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest like mad, though.)

**** When he wakes up in the morning, and finds a sloppily written thank you note lying vicariously on the floor in front of his room, coupled with a cup of ‘I’m sorry’ perma-warm tea, he thinks he might have a heart attack.

****

*

**** By day ten he’s getting sick of watching the progress fade away, and the confusion fade back in. It’s hard to watch.

**** And he’s starting to get sick of cookies.

**** Not of spending time watching movies with Eliot, though. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of Eliot rolling his eyes at him and telling him, “Jesus, Todd, you can sit on the same couch. I’m not going to kill you.”

  


*

**** Day sixteen is a disaster. An unmitigated, inevitable disaster.

**** He’s almost tempted to ask Fogg for a spell to track the last portal through the closet door, but then remembers that he can’t just leave Eliot alone. And he’s not going to just leave an Eliot with a first years memories to fight whatever fairy or goblin or ghost--or whatever it is they’re fighting--because no matter how frustrated he is? He doesn’t want Eliot dead.

**** Even if he did just light the note on fire.

**** “What the fuck are you doing?” Todd hisses, rushing around the couch and snatching it up from the table. Which, oh, hey, bad idea, because fire burns and—

**** He drops it, and with scalding hands, quickly casts a spell to put the fire out. He stares down at it, wide eyed, his chest heaving. Oh, fuck, he thinks. A letter from Margo is the only thing that’s calmed him down. And it’s the only recognizable explanation—and, oh, god. What the fuck is he going to do? Eliot’s going to wake up tomorrow lost and confused and—

**** “It’s fucking stupid,” Eliot mutters, setting his hands on Todd’s waist—ohgodohgod—and twisting him around to face him. He looks down at Todd’s shaking hands, which—Todd follows his gaze, and oh, yeah, they’re fucking blistered and bloody, great—he may be too shocked to even feel the pain. Eliot lifts one hand from Todd’s hips and gently grabs his right wrist, turning it upwards. “If they’re protecting me,” He murmurs with a furrowed brow as he examines Todd’s hand, “They’re doing a shit job of it.”

**** Todd opens his mouth to reply, but Eliot’s gaze shoots up to meet his, and the words die in his throat.

**** He doesn’t think Eliot’s ever actually looked him in the eyes.

**** On an unrelated note, brown may be his new favorite color.

**** “Take a deep breath,” Eliot murmurs, the words ghosting across Todd’s cheeks. He wants to ask why, but then Eliot’s looking down again, and dropping both of his hands, leaving Todd cold. So cold where his hands had been. But Eliot closes his eyes, and starts casting, and it only takes a moment for Todd’s mind to connect the dots that Eliot’s healing him.

**** Eliot’s. _Healing_ him.

**** “Better?”

**** Todd tilts his head, gazing up at him. “You . . . healed me.” He can’t even recognize that it should have hurt, because he’s too in fucking awe at the fact, again, that Eliot healed him.

**** “Don’t think too much on it,” Eliot mutters, flopping back down on the couch and glaring down at the pile of ash. “How much do you know about this spell?”

**** “What?”

**** “Well, I burned the paper. So . . . you have to know something about it if you’re the one they trusted to take care of me.” He waves a hand as he leans back and stretches his arms out over the back of the couch. “Something must have happened between my last memory of you, and . . . however long it’s been for them to put me in your . . . I won’t say capable, hands.”

**** Todd shrugs, moving to sit on the edge of the table next to the ashes. He sets his hands on his lap delicately. “Not . . . They didn’t really explain much. I asked when they’d be back, they said they didn’t know, and before I could even think. They were gone.” He looks up at Eliot through his eyelashes, “Some days are good. Some . . . Not so much. Gotta say, I did not expect you to burn the only thing that helps you come to terms.” He glances down at it. “I don’t know a spell that’ll fix it.”

**** “Good.” Todd’s gaze jerks back up to him, and Eliot shrugs a shoulder, his own eyes zeroed in on the pile of ash. “The notes bullshit anyways. Just . . . Update me with what you know.”

**** “Yeah, because you’ll believe me.” Todd snorts, and looks up at the ceiling with a  roll of his eyes. He’s probably the last person on Earth Eliot would ever trust with no proof.

**** “I will.” And he sounds so earnest, that Todd can’t help but to look back to him. “Look. You’re a lot of things, Todd. Annoying.” He nods his head to the side a couple of times, “Mostly annoying, actually. But I know you’re too dumb to fuck with me.”

**** Todd blinks.

**** “That was . . . rude.”

**** “Not intentionally. I just mean. You’re _nice_.”

**** “And people keep using that against me.” He shoves up from the table and crosses his arms. His hands are still sensitive, where the skins healed but still soft like scarred tissue, and it’s a strange feeling as they scratch up against the fabric of his shirt. “Nobody asked my opinion about doing this, you know.”

**** “And yet. Here you are.”

**** Todd nods. “And yet.” He shakes his head, and turns towards the kitchen. “I have cookies in the oven.” Eliot sighs, all drama and flare, and calls out after him, but Todd shakes his head and makes his way into the kitchen. Just because he has a repressed crush that he’ll never admit out loud to anyone, ever, doesn’t mean Eliot just gets to walk all over him.

**** He stops in front of the oven; glares down at it. Yeah, he’s nice. And he’s dumb. And he’d never intentionally hurt anyone.

**** But Eliot’s memory isn’t coming back anytime soon. And clearly the truth isn’t fun for _either_ of them. He bites down on his bottom lip, and leans back to look out the doorway. He could . . . He could be like them. Just for a day. Then it’ll be reversed on a new day and he’ll go back to telling him the whole upsetting truth.

**** But Todd can be petty, and make this less awful for Eliot, and prove that damn it, he’s just as capable of fucking with people as they are.

****. . . If Margo ever finds out she’s going to _kill_ him.

  


*

**** He’s waiting for Eliot today. He hasn’t slept, because he’d spent all night flipping back and forth over whether or not he’s really going to do this. If he’s actually going to take advantage of Eliot’s memory shortage to fuck with him. He’d been so close to backing out, but he’s not actually hurting anyone. He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s just . . . flubbing the truth to keep Eliot from freaking out.

**** It’s not entirely petty.

**** When Eliot sits up, blearily blinking into the room, and turns to see Todd staring at him, the cute sleep haze quickly vanishes, and in it’s place is a quirked brow of infinite judgment. And, yeah, Todd decides right then, that he’s definitely doing this. Just for today. If it upsets him, he can use a spell to knock him and reset everything. It’ll be like it never happened.

**** “Before you say anything,” He says, holding a hand out between them, “I know I told you last night that it was entirely safe, and you’re definitely mad at me for getting you knocked out but—“

**** “What the fuck are you talking about?”

**** Todd blinks, all innocent doe eyed. “Don’t you remember?”

**** Eliot lifts his chin, his eyes narrowing, “Todd,” and yikes, he recognizes that tone, “You have precisely five seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on. And then, if I don’t like your explanation, I’m going to turn you into a toad.”

**** “We were practicing a spell together last night. It was supposed to create infinite moonlight in a bottle, but then I used a little more magic than you, I guess, and. Wammo. You crashed into the wall, and lost consciousness.”

**** “Sounds fake.”

**** Todd feigns confusion, and leans in, “Are you okay? Maybe we should take you to the nurse—“

**** Eliot shoves up from the couch, and shakes his head. “I don’t know what kind of crack you’re on—“ He looks around the cottage, and frowns, furrowing his brow, “Where the fuck is everyone?”

**** Shit.

**** Todd makes a face.

**** He hadn’t thought this through. He’d had all night, and he hadn’t _thought this through_.

**** “Todd.”

**** Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck on a fuck cake of fuckness. Curse his fucking brain and the guilt coursing through his body. Fucking curse it straight to hell. He exhales, and the words come vomiting out of him at hyper speed. “Okay, I’m a big fat liar, but it’s only because you said I’m too nice and incapable of fucking with people and because the truth is gruesome and you freak out every time I tell you, and I’ve been watching you freak out for weeks now. And the more I have to watch, and—it. You were really mean to me, and I’ve just been trying to help you—“

**** “What the fuck are you talking about?”

**** “Margo and Quentin dropped you off a couple weeks ago because you’d been hit with a blast of some kind of short term memory spell or something. Something to do with fairies? I don’t know. I just know I’m supposed to watch you, explain everything to you, and then when everything’s over, they’re going to come back—“

**** “Who the fuck is Quentin?”

**** Todd makes a face. “Right. Well. See—the thing is. You’ve lost about three years of memories. And nothing new seems to stick. Past morning. You wake up and it’s like nothing’s happened between when Margo and Quentin dropped you off, and now.” He waves a hand, “Actually, its like nothing’s happened since the end of our first year here.”

**** “You still haven’t answered any of my questions.”

**** “Well, what a fucking coincidence!” He throws his hands up beside him, “Because nobodies answered mine, either! We can’t always get what we want, Eliot! Not all of us are inherently likable and pretty and sometimes life is a fucking mystery, and we just want to know what the fuck is going on, but instead people say, ‘here, Todd, thanks, Todd, bye, Todd. Fuck off, Todd.’ That’s life!”

**** Eliot blinks down at him. “You,” He says, waving a hand, motioning to . . . All of him, “Need a drink.”

**** “It’s nine am.”

**** His face morphs, pinched lips and furrowed brow, “Why the fuck am I awake?”

**** “It’s when the spell wakes you.”

**** His mouth falls open then, and turns on his heel, pointing a lazy finger at nothing in particular. “I don’t know what’s going on, but that’s probably the cruelest part of all of this”

**** “Trust me, it’s not.”

**** Eliot scoffs, and turns to head towards the bar, but stops just short. “Where the fuck is the alcohol?”

**** Todd flinches. “ . . .  Is now a bad time to mention that there’s no booze?”

**** “What?” Eliot whips back around, “What do you mean that’s _no_ —how the fuck—conjure some!”  Todd must make a face without realizing it, because Eliot rushes forward, and stops just shy. “The next words out of your mouth had better not be that we can’t.”

**** Pursing his lips, Todd takes a step back, and then smiles, all teeth, and shrugs. “I’m not going to say anything, except. I can have a batch of cookies ready in ten minutes.”

**** “Cookies.”

**** “It’s helped before.”

**** Eliot plants a hand on his hip, and sighs, before waiving an arm. “Fine, whatever. Cookies. They’d better be chocolate chip, or you’re going to find—“

**** “That you’ve turned me into a frog? Yeah, got it.”

**** He heads to kitchen, choosing the lazy way out of gettin gate ingredients he needs, by casting as he walks. He’s almost surprised to find them all sitting on the counter waiting for him, but grins, mostly to himself as he grabs an apron and gets to work. He doesn’t even realize Eliot’s watching him until he hears, “You should double the chocolate chips.”

**** Todd scoffs, without looking up, “Obviously,” He says. “If I’m not in a chocolate coma, I’ve done something wrong.” He finally glances up, as he pours the flour, and feels heat flood through him, at the almost confused smile Eliot’s shooting him. “What?” He asks. His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he blinks, quickly turning his gaze back on the bowl as he adds the eggs.

**** “Nothing. I’m just surprised you can do something right.” He hears Eliot walk into the kitchen then, the soft pad of his socks echoing around the room, before the scrape of the chair against the tile alerts him to the fact that Eliot’s sitting across from him. Todd looks up, just in time to see Eliot crossing his arms over the countertop, and leaning forward over them. “You know. If you want to mess with someone. You don’t usually fess up right off the bat.”

   Todd shrugs, grabbing the bag go chocolate chips. “I felt bad.”

**** “If I was being rude, you shouldn’t have felt bad.”

**** “You’re always rude. I always feel bad. It’s the circle of life.”

**** “Fair.”

**** Flinching, Todd looks back up at him. He almost drops the entire back of chocolate chips, when he finds himself looking directly into Eliot’s eyes. He swallows thickly, and looks back. “Sorry,” He mutters, dipping the bag and letting the chocolate flow into the batter.

**** “Why are you sorry?”

**** “For calling you rude.”

**** “That’s funny.”

**** “Why?”

**** “Because, I am rude to you. And yet, here you are. Apparently, day after day taking care of me. What’s that about?”

**** Content with the amount of chocolate chips he’s poured, Todd lifts the bag up, and rolls the edge over to preserve the remaining. Before he can, a long, lithe arm reaches over the counter and plucks the bag from his hands, unrolling it. He sighs. “Its not about anything. I’m just . . . As you put it. Pathetically nice.”

**** “And I never remember.”

**** “Not yet. It’s supposed to be temporary, but.” He shrugs, and looks back up, just in time to see Eliot delicately set a chocolate chip on his tongue. Jesus fucking christ. He closes his mouth and bites down on the chocolate chip, as little smirk quirks at the corner of his mouth. “I—uh. Yeah.” Todd nods, gaze darting back down to the batter as he picks up a spoon. He’d rather keep himself busy than stand here staring at Eliot.

**** “What if I give you permission?” Eliot asks, after a few long minutes of stirring.

**** “Permission for what?”

**** “Fucking with me.”

**** He stops. Looks up. “What? Why would you do that?”

**** “I owe you, dont I?”

**** Todd sighs. “Look,” He says, setting the spoon down on a paper towel on the counter, and looking up at him. “You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t want to go home for the summer, and nobody else was going to be here. I wasn’t going to just leave you alone. It’s not a big deal.”

**** “Do you do anything other than babysit me?”

**** Does jerking off count? He flinches, pausing, and hoping beyond all hope that he hadn’t just said that out loud. But Eliot’s still looking at him expectantly, so assuming he’s in the clear, he shrugs. “We watch movies sometimes. And eat cookies. It’s not all bad.”

**** “But it is bad. And as annoying as you can be, you should use this as an opportunity to stand up for yourself. It’s not like I’ll remember after the fact.”

**** “And when your memories come back?”

**** “I won’t be mad because I gave you permission before hand.”

**** Todd swallows, his hands moving to grip the sides of the counter. Is this a trap? This totally feels like a trap. “As much as I appreciate that—the Eliot I know would never—“

**** Eliot leans in, and whatever he was going to say gets stuck in his throat. “Look, Todd,” He raises his eyebrows. “I freak out every day, right? I don’t like the truth. And there’s no alcohol to poof away the blues. So, you’d be doing me a favor. By fucking with me.”

**** Why are his eyes so shiny and convincing? Why can’t Todd just say no?

**** Where’s the DARE program when he needs it? Because getting Eliot’s approval is a drug that nobody warned him about, and he’s about to bomb this just-say-no program so hard.

**** “You’re serious.”

**** Eliot nods. “And I’m expecting creativity. If I believe it you get bonus points.”

**** “For?”

**** He shrugs, pushing his chair out. “Who’s to say. Just make it interesting. And don’t keep us cooped up in this cottage if there’s no alcohol. You could probably convince me to leave. If you _really_ tried.”

**** “I _could_?” Sue him for sounding skeptical. And hopeful. Skeptically hopeful? Is that a thing?

**** He nods down to the bowl of batter, “If the cookies are good enough, I might be willing to do anything.”

**** Help.

**** Todd’s heart might have just stopped.

**** “Within reason, of course.”

**** Todd clears his throat and nods. “Yeah, no, yeah. Totally. Within reason. Uh. I’m gonna—“ He nods again, motioning to the bowl of batter, and stepping back from the counter. “Magic.”

**** Eliot nods, “Sounds good. I’m going to go shower.” As if Todd needed anymore of a reason to have a fucking heart attack, Eliot has to go and add that image to his mind.

  


*

**** Sleep? What’s sleep? Todd’s spent all night thinking up stupid fucking lies to try and make this ‘interesting’ for Eliot. And to gain bonus points. It’s like he’s on an episode of who’s line. The life where everything’s made up and the points don’t matter. Oh, god, he might vomit.

**** He takes a deep breath and settles on the couch opposite Eliot, trying to settle himself before Eliot wakes up. He’s only got a few minutes. Has to pretend to be confident. He can do that. He does it all the time.

**** Oh god, he can’t do this.

**** There’s a groan, and the blanket shuffles as Eliot slowly wakes up.

**** Fuck.

**** A head full of curls, and sleepy brown eyes peak out from beneath the blanket, and almost immediately glare up at him. “What are you staring at, _Todd_?” Why does the way he says his name make his heart go all pitter patter in his chest, when its literally the most disdained sound he’s ever heard in his life?

**** Todd shrugs, and forces, what he hopes is, an easy smile. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

**** “I’m fine. Go away.”

**** “Come on. You fell down a flight of stairs after trying to kiss Dean Fogg. Sue me for being worried.”

**** Eliot’s eyes widen a fraction, before he slowly pulls the blanket off himself, and moves to sit up on the couch. “I’m sorry. _What_?”

**** Okay. This isn’t so bad.

**** He can do this.

****

*

**** “You don’t remember? Well. It’s kind of funny. Last night some hedge witch cursed you. You got pregnant, and had to go through an entire pregnancy over the course of four hours. It’s probably good that you don’t remember.” He shakes his head solemnly, “At least we know why men don’t give birth, now.”

**** Eliot’s brow furrows. “What?”

**** “Itty bitty hole. Very big head.” He tilts his head to the side, “I mean both heads were pretty impressive. But one was not meant to go through the other.”

**** His eyes widen, as he jumps up and pulls at the band of his pajama pants.

**** Oh, yeah. He can _definitely_ do this.

  


*

    “So, what’s it like being married to Professor Sunderland?”

 

*

  
    “Man, we were _so_ wasted last night. What time do you want to go to the courthouse to annul the wedding?”

  


*

  
    “Long story short. At least we know it’s reattachable with the right spell. Thank god, Dean Fogg was willing to help. Otherwise you’d—“

**** “Please, stop.”

  


*

  
   “Scale of 1-10. How much do you remember about last night?”

**** “. . .Why?”

**** “Just trying to gauge to see if it was a one time thing or if you and I . . .”

**** “Get out.”

  


*

  
  “So Mayakovsky dropped by.” Todd shakes his head, and plops down on the floor in front of the couch. “He said he was upset that you’d just run out on him like that after the moment you two had last night.”

**** Eliot blinks down at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? Mayakovsky isn’t allowed to leave Brakebills South.”

**** Fuck.

**** How had he forgotten that important tidbit?

**** “Todd, what the fuck is going on?”

**** New lie? Fuck, brain, give him a new lie. New lie, new lie—shit. He’s got nothing.

**** “Okay,” He says, “before I tell you anything—you made me do this!”

**** Eliot stares at him for a long moment, before sighing—all exasperation, which, fair—and waving his hand in a spell that Todd barely recognizes. Next thing he knows, everything’s spilling out of his mouth at light speed, of no control of his own, and Eliot’s eyes are slowly growing wider with every second that passes. It’s like, if the grinch’s problems were with his eyes instead of his heart. Eliot’s eyes grew three sizes that day. Or however it goes. Todd hasn’t seen the movie since he was like, five.

**** “This is _real_ convenient,” Eliot mutters when he’s done. “Everything’s a shit fest, and I can’t even drink to take the edge off. Why is that?” He sets down an empty tumbler, glares down at it for a moment, and looks back up at Todd. “You didn’t tell me why no alcohol.”

**** Todd shrugs, resting his head on the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. You showed up, all the booze disappeared. And you tried to conjure some up on day one and day two. All you got was water. Couldn’t even turn the water to wine.”

**** “Did you _try_?”

**** He lifts his head to offer a halfhearted glare. “No, Eliot. You _definitely_ let me get by without trying even once to conjure up alcohol.” Eliot frowns, and Todd drops his head again. “Sorry.”

**** “It’s fine,” Eliot mutters, moving around the bar to sit on the couch next to him. Todd bounces a little as Eliot flops down, and his skin tingles where Eliot’s arm knocks against his. “So what are we supposed to do all day? I’m not just going to sit here watching movies and eating cookies.” From his peripheral, he sees Eliot turn to look at him. “Seriously. You’ve had me here, all to yourself for a month, and all you’re telling me you’ve thought to do is damage control. With chocolate chip cookies and movies?”

**** Todd shrugs again. Honestly, at this point, he might just dislocate a shoulder. “It’s been working.”

**** “Well it’s not working today.” He hums thoughtfully to himself, before turning his body and looking at Todd expectantly. “Take me out.”

**** Todd rolls his neck to look at him. Why, oh _why_ , does he have to be so pretty? He just wants to reach out—and do nothing, because Eliot’s not himself, and even if he were, Todd would absolutely not be permitted to do anything his mind is trying to think up. “Going to a bar isn’t going to yield much better results in the alcohol department.”

**** Eliot rolls his eyes, long suffering, and pushes up from the couch. “Fine. Take me somewhere. Make me have a single good day. Then go back to fucking with me. Just—“ He turns around and waves a hand nonchalantly, “Please do something creative. Mayakovsky? _Really_?”

**** “I thought the pregnancy thing was pretty funny.”

**** “I’m sure you did.”

**** Todd huffs out a gust of air, before forcing himself to sit up and looking around the room. There’s one place he can take him. He’ll probably hate it, but. “My family has a house on the beach,” He finds himself saying, without looking at Eliot, “We could go there. My parents . . . let’s just go with they won’t be there.”

**** “The beach.”

**** “I don’t see you coming up with anything!”

**** “No, no. I like it.” He blinks a couple times before nodding with a little smile. “Yeah. I could do the beach.” He looks over his shoulder at the stairs, and then back at Todd. “Is my room still the one I remember it being?”

**** “Yeah, you haven’t been moved—“

  “Great. Be ready in ten. Don’t forget to set the portal.”

**** And then he’s off. Like a glorious soldier off to battle. Or a prized horse off to the races. Todd doesn’t know. He just knows Eliot somehow finds a way to make racing up the stairs look graceful and stoic all at once. Meanwhile, Todd can’t even walk across a rug without crashing to the floor and spelling away a few bruises every couple of days. He watches him until he’s gone, before sighing, a little wistfully, to himself, and then follows him up the stairs to pack a bag of his own for the beach.

**** Once packed, he turns to meet Eliot downstairs, but he hesitates with the bag at his door, debating whether or not he should text his parents and let them know that he’ll be there. Eliot’s door down the hall clicks open, and he shoves his phone in his back pocket, because what’s the point? It’s not like they’ll suddenly start caring about him. He forces a big grin as Eliot steps into the hallway, and says, “You ready?”

**** Eliot blinks, glances down at Todd’s outfit, sighs, and replies, “As ready as one can possibly be when spending the day with you, Todd.”

**** His smile only falls slightly, before he nods and turns to head downstairs to grab the portal in the hall closet.

**** Hey. At least for today he can pretend he has a friend who cares about him. If he can ignore the jabs.

****_Hip Hip_?

**** “You did call for the Portal, didn’t you?”

**** He sighs. “ _Yes_ , Eliot.”

**** He’s really starting to question his choice in men.

****. . . _Hooray_.

  


*

**** They set their things down inside the house, Eliot waves a hand to change into his swimwear, and before Todd even knows left from right again, they’re lying on towels on the beach, staring at the water as it crashes around in front of them. He swallows thickly, and falls backwards, letting his arms out from under him, and stares up at the clouds. He and his sister used to do this when they were kids; before everything happened.

**** He turns his head, and blinks, eyes going wide at the sight of Eliot staring at him. “What?” He asks.

**** “Why are you so tense?”

**** Shit.

**** He forces a grin and rolls his eyes, “Tense? Who’s tense. Not I.” He turns his head back towards the clouds, frowning to himself. Not I? Who the fuck even says that? Nobody says that. Jesus Christ, is he even capable of being casual? Why’s he even stressing? It’s not like Eliot’s going to remember any of this. Calm down. He just needs to calm down. Don’t think of family, or of crushes. He just needs to think of Eliot as a victim, and himself as the Protector.

**** “Jesus,” Eliot mutters, shifting and sitting up. “What’s wrong with you?”

**** “Me? Nothing. Don’t know what you mean.” He reaches up and points at the sky, “That one looks like a dinosaur.”

**** Eliot’s eyebrows go up so high, Todd briefly worries they might join the clouds, before he exhales slowly and lays back down. He’s closer now; when he breathes his arm grazes up against Todd’s. Which is totally fine. It doesn’t make Todd’s heart race, at all. He tilts his head to the side, and Todd can see a stray curl drift towards him, which doesn’t make him have all kinds of hair related questions. “Which one?”

**** Swallowing, Todd points up again, at the vaguely T-Rex shaped cloud to their left. “There.”

**** Humming thoughtfully, Eliot follows his gaze, “Maybe. I think it looks more like a dog.”

**** “A dog? It’s clearly a t-rex! Like Rexxy from Jurassic Park!”

**** Eliot makes an indignant squawk and turns to look at him. “Rexxy?”

**** “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a thing!”

**** “Is it _really_?”

**** Todd frowns, turning to glaring at him, but there’s an almost amused little smile on his lips, and whatever words he thinks he was going to say die right in their tracks, and he just nods silently, as he turns to look back up at the sky. “Yes, it’s a thing. Plenty of people call her Rexxy.”

**** Eliot chuckles and nods, “I’ll take your word for it.” And just as Todd feels a little of the tension of being here slip away, Eliot reaches over and grabs his wrist—which, hey, unsurprisingly this might actually kill him, if he’s going off of how his heart reacts to the touch—and lifts it up. Todd follows the movement with owl eyes, unsure of what to do, but Eliot holds it there, and motions towards a cluster of clouds in the sky. “Brakebills South,” He says, soft, “When we were all geese, flying there.”

**** Todd squints his eyes, and just before they fully close he can see it. “Whoa,” He says, “That’s _totally_ a cluster of geese!” He frowns, and turns to look at Eliot. “Did I ever apologize for accidentally crashing into you when we landed?”

**** “Yes,” Eliot smirks, without looking at him, “Profusely. Unendingly. Please don’t do it again.”

**** “You just said _please_.”

**** “I say please plenty.”

**** “No, you don’t.”

**** Eliot shrugs. “Then maybe I should.”

**** “I don’t think you should.” He turns, and Eliot follows the motion, “It’s not what people expect.”

**** Eliot rolls his eyes. “Who cares what people expect? Other than you, I mean.” Todd frowns, but a smile lights up Eliot’s face—and, yeah, he’s actually going to _die_ —and he turns to lie on his side, facing him. “You wouldn’t be half as annoying if you didn’t care so much what people think of you.”

**** “I think you’re trying to be nice, but you’re not being as nice as you think you are.”

**** “And I think you’re trying to relax, but you’re so tense an archaeologist is going to confuse you with being a fossil.”

**** “What?”

**** “Don’t question me. Go swim.”

**** “Don’t tell me what to do.”

**** An eyebrow quirks dangerously. “Oh, please. You love when I tell you what to do.”

**** Fuck. He’s been caught.

**** “No,” He chokes out, voice too high, “I don’t.”

**** “I think you do.”

**** “Think what you want, doesn’t make it _true_.” Even if it does.

**** “Doesn’t it?”

**** “Not when it’s not something you’ll remember when you wake up.”

**** Eliot shrugs as best he can while lying on his side, and reaches over to tug at the string on Todd’s hoodie. “Tell me, Todd,” He murmurs, and oh god, Todd’s heart is actually going to burst right out of his chest, “Has it just been us?”

**** “You know it has.”

**** “And have you been tense this whole time?”

**** “I mean, you try getting your not friend dropped on your lap, and being told hey they will have no memory of this and you have to do damage control every day. You try spending day in and day out trying to make sure they don’t get hurt, or keep them from hurting themselves—“

**** “You care, don’t you?” Eliot interrupts, furrowing his brow. “You actually _care_.”

**** “I mean. Yeah.”

**** “Why?”

**** “What do you mean, _why_?”

**** Eliot stares at him for a long moment, before tilting his head. “People don’t generally care about me. And I don’t care about them. It’s how the world ticks round and round.”

**** Todd scoffs. “Please,” He says, “You’ve got loads of people who care about you. You just don’t remember.”

**** “I have Margo. But I don’t see her here. I just see _you_.”

**** “That’s because Margo’s being a bad ass saving the world with your other friends. And . . . She knew I’d take care of you.”

**** “Why? _How_?”

**** Don’t say it. Don’t say it. _Don’t say it._

**** He might actually punch himself in the brain if he says what he’s thinking about saying.  

**** “Because I’m nice.” Oh thank god.

**** “Nobodies that nice, Todd.”

**** Todd turns away from him and shrugs, looking back up at the sky. The clouds have shifted with the wind, and he points up at them. “That one looks like a dog.”

**** “You’re deflecting.”

**** “Learned it from you.”

**** A shocked little chuckle drifts out over the sound of the ocean. “All right. Fair.”

**** He frowns, turning to look at Eliot again. The winds knocked some of his curls about, one’s laying haphazardly across his forehead, and he just wants to reach forward and brush it aside. It’s probably soft. Eliot’s hair always looks so soft. He clears his throat. “It’s not like you to just . . . give in.”

**** “I’m not giving in.” He squints his eyes with a smirk, and rolls over onto his back. “Is this a private beach?”

**** Todd blinks, caught in the way his profile kind of silhouettes against the sand, before shaking his head. “No,” he says, soft, as he turns to look up at the sky. “None of the beaches in California are private, no matter how many signs the people in the beachfront properties put up.”

**** “So, we’re in California?”

**** “Yeah.”

**** Eliot hums thoughtfully, before chuckling softly, and twisting his neck to look over at him. “Are you telling me your family owns a beachfront house in California? Todd, are you _rich_?”

**** “I mean, kind of. My parents are. I’m not.”

**** Eliot scoffs, “That is such a rich kid thing to say.” He huffs out a bit of air and scoots until he’s sitting up, his legs splayed out to his side, and gazes down at Todd, like he’s seeing him in an entirely different light. “You’re a rich kid. I can’t _believe_ this.”

**** Todd shakes his head, eyes darting away so he doesn’t get lost in admiring him. “Not really,” He says, “when they die, I’m almost certain they won’t leave anything to me.”

**** Eliot wrinkles his nose. “Siblings?”

**** If only it were that simple.

**** “Uh, yes, and no?” Todd takes in a deep breath and moves to sit up as well, can’t handle feeling Eliot’s presence looming over him like this. It’s too vulnerable. “I had a sister.” He looks out at the water crashing against the shore, the way it foams up and then slinks away. “She used to love coming here.”

**** “What changed?”

**** He shrugs. “I killed her.”

**** Neither of them say anything for a few long moments. Eliot eventually turns to face the water as well. His fingers dig into the sand, and Todd can almost feel it as if Eliot’s reaching through the sand to find his. But he’s not. Because this is Eliot, and Todd, and in no universe would Todd find himself in that position. Especially not here.

**** Nothing good happens here.

**** God, why had he brought him here?

**** “You’re just as damaged as the rest of us, aren’t you?” Eliot finally asks, his voice so soft it barely comes out above the wind and waves. Todd shrugs, and Eliot carries on. “Just as broken. But you hide it with a smile. How?”

**** Simple. Everyone at Brakebills is fucked up in some way or another. All lost in the misery and drowning in it in order to get the next fix of magic, or cocaine, or whatever. All of them are just floating through waiting for magic to make things better. Someone has to make them feel like they’re okay sometimes. Even if it means being the one they all hate. Even if it means smiling through the worst of it.

**** “Somebody has to,” He says. “Why not me?”

**** Somebody has to be the one they can take it out on. Either with stupid little spells that leave him feeling hollow for weeks on end, or with jokes and jabs that hit a little too close to home. Every time he’s excluded, somebody else is included.

**** Eliot nods. “You’re not as dumb as you let people think.”

**** “Nobodies as dumb as they let people think.” He glances over his shoulder and smiles, close lipped. “People are multifaceted, Eliot. Not as multifaceted as you. But still.”

**** Tilting his head, Eliot leans in, lips tilting upwards in a smirk. “Of course not. I’m as multi-dimensional as they get.”

**** Dimensional. _Sensational_. Either works. Todd turns his attention back on the water just as a new wave crashes to shore and roars all around them.

**** Eliot huffs. “Todd.”

**** “Yeah?”

**** “I know I just said you’re not as dumb as you let people think, but you’re being absurdly stupid right now.”

**** Todd frowns, turning to face him again. Jesus, when had he gotten so close? He swallows. “I—what?” As the words come out, he watches in awe as his breath moves the wayward curl on Eliot’s forehead. They’re so close, he can practically feel Eliot breathe inward.

**** Eliot watches him, almost like he’s examining him before he rolls his eyes and his smirk fades away into a bored smile. “I’m kidding. I’m also hungry. Think there’s any food in your haunted family mansion?”

**** “Probably not, but I can head down the street and get some supplies to cook up?”

**** “Can you cook anything other than cookies?”

**** “I know a few spells that’ll cook up some good food.”

**** “Why don’t I believe you?”

**** Todd rolls his eyes and digs his toes into the sand as he moves to stand up, then holds a hand out for Eliot to help him up. Eliot stares up at him for a few seconds, before rolling his neck and reaching up to take Todd’s offered hand. His skin is cold, but it’s somehow warm when his fingers squeeze around Todd’s palm.

**** He expects him to let go once he gets to his feet, but he doesn’t. He also doesn’t step away. Not immediately, at least. No, he looms over Todd, like a handsome _god_ , for a long— _long_ — beat. And Todd would be lying if he doesn’t say he enjoys every moment of it. Even if he can’t help but wonder why. Why Eliot’s looking at him like he is. It’s almost inexplicable, the way his eyes are narrowed, but still open wide enough to be appraising. Still wide enough to leave plenty of room for the fresh rays of sunset to bounce off the brown and green speckles. Can’t ignore the way that stupid tuft of hair gets caught in the wind.  

**** Todd hears the waves crash into shore three times before Eliot finally drops his hand and turns on his heel, to head back to the house.

**** And then two more before he’s able to shake himself out of his reverie, and chase after him.

  


*

**** He ends up making spaghetti. Because his magic thinks its funny, and because he’s a disaster of a human being. If Eliot catches onto Todd’s secret desire to share a plate and roll a meatball across it, he doesn’t say anything when he sits down at the table. He just inhales deep, his eyes fluttering shut, and Todd fears his heart won’t survive the rest of the day. It’s all so intimate, even if it’s as far from intimate as two people can be. Eliot’s the unattainable. And, currently, a victim of some kind of spell. Whatever Todd thinks he’s feeling is made up. Not that Todd thinks he’s feeling anything.

**** “God, this smells delicious.”

**** A warmth spreads over his cheeks, “Thanks,” He murmurs, grabbing a fork off the table. “Let’s just hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

**** “If it’s anything like your cookies, I don’t doubt it does.”

**** Todd frowns, looking back up at him. “But you haven’t had any cookies today.”

**** Eliot rolls his eyes and picks up his own fork. “If I’ve been willing to eat them every day before today, Todd. Clearly they must be delicious.” He quirks an eyebrow at him, one corner of his mouth tilting upwards with the motion, “I don’t eat anything unless it’s so good I’m convinced it’s laced with crack.”

**** “You eat cheetos, like. Constantly.”

**** “Obviously,” He turns his attention on the spaghetti and twists his fork through it. “Those _are_ laced with crack. Get with the program, Todd.”

**** For once, when he says his name?

**** It’s not laced with disdain.

**** It almost actually, _genuinely_ , sounds _playful_. Teasing, even.

**** He feels a loopy grin work it’s way across his lips, and quickly shoves a forkful of Spaghetti into his mouth before Eliot can see it.

  


*

  “Is there anything else you want to do before we head back?” It’s how he asks how he can spend more time with him, here, like this, without actually asking.

**** Eliot considers it for a moment, before flopping down on the couch—the same couch!—and extending his legs across it, until his ankles slide into Todd’s lap. “I was thinking about that,” He says, scooting down until he must decide he’s comfortable. He looks across the couch then, tilting his head. “Do we really have to go back?”

**** Todd blinks. “Uh, yeah?” Not that he wants to go back, either. He is surprised Eliot doesn’t, though. “When you wake up tomorrow thinking I kidnapped you—“

**** “I won’t.”

**** “What?”

**** “Think you kidnapped me.”

**** He blinks again, swallowing and shifting in his seat. He glances down at Eliot’s legs in his lap, tries to ignore the warmth they’re emanating, and looks back up. “You will almost _definitely_ think I kidnapped you, Eliot.”

**** “If I do, just explain. That’s what you have to do anyways, right?”

**** “Yeah, but some days, you’re not so . . .”

**** “What?”

**** “Accommodating.”

**** “It’s not like anyones going to miss us at Brakebills.” His eyes go wide and pleading, and as if Todd ever had a chance here, he asks, softer, “Please?”

**** All the air in his lungs eases out of him as he waves a hand, “Yeah, okay.”

**** It’s not like he wanted to leave anyways.

**** Eliot beams down at him, before looking across the room at the TV. “What should we watch? Please nothing boring. Papa needs some excitement in his life!”

**** And Todd needs one of those machines hospitals have. You know. The ones that they use when someones heart stops. Because, sound the alarms, he’s pretty sure his heart hasn’t beat this hard in all his life, and any second now, he’s gonna need that machine more than he needs air. He just knows it.

  
  


*

He wakes up to the smell of bacon.

**** For a moment, he gets lost in the memory of the last time he’d been in this house, feels the fear course up and through his veins, but then he opens his eyes and remembers it’s been six years and that this isn’t that. He’d come through a portal with Eliot.

**** Eliot.

**** Oh, fuck.

**** He tears the blankets off himself, and hops up. But his foot gets tangled in the remnants of the sheets, and he topples to the ground with a harsh thump. He sits up, like a prairie dog lost in the desert, and tugs his foot free, before jumping to his feet and racing down the hall. Oh god. He’s got to be freaking out.

**** Only he’s _not_.

**** Because he’s in the _kitchen making bacon_.

  Todd skids to a stop in the doorway, chest heaving, and reaches up to rub at his eyes. Because there’s no way what he’s seeing is what he’s seeing. “Uh,” He says. Eliot looks over the counter at him. “ _What_.”

**** Eliot tilts his head. “All right,” He says, holding a spatula out. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”

**** Todd splutters, because, holy fuck he’s so confused. “You’re— _bacon_?”

**** Exasperation settles over Eliot’s face, “Yes, Todd. I’m making bacon. Because I woke up in a strange house, who the fuck knows where, and the date on the news? Says its twenty fucking nineteen. Do you know what year I thought it was when I woke up?” He doesn’t wait for Todd to respond, just tosses the spatula onto the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Not twenty nineteen, I’ll tell you that. So you, sit down, eat some bacon, and explain what the fuck is going on.”

**** “I—“

**** “Whatever it is, it’s clearly you’re fault.”

**** Todd’s mouth opens and closes once, twice, three times, before the first thing he can think of comes spilling out.

  “Happy anniversary?” He pauses. “Baby?”

  
  


*

  
  “If I keep telling you to come up with something creative, why do you come up with the dumbest fucking—“

  
  


*

  
  They’re lying on the beach, staring up at the stars, when Eliot suddenly bursts out laughing. Todd turns to look at him, but Eliot shakes his head, bringing his hand up to cover his smile behind his hand.

**** “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

**** “I’m _fine_ —this is just so very fifty first dates.” He heaves in a breath, shakily exhaling as he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m somehow living a fucking _Adam Sandler_ movie!”

**** “Holy _shit_.”

**** And before Todd can even think, there’s a laugh unfurling from his throat, too, and not long later they’re curling into each other, Todd laughing into Eliot’s chest, and Eliot’s huffing his laughter into Todd’s hair. He’s careful not to grab fistfuls of Eliot’s vest, but he breathes in his cologne, and feels safer on this beach than he’s probably ever felt in his life.

  
  


*

  
  He wakes up on the beach, to the sun shining down on him, and Eliot poking him in the side.

**** Todd sighs, shutting his eyes, and pulling the warm pillow—when had they brought pillows out?—closer, and grumbling. “No, I didn’t kidnap you. Yes, there’s an explanation. But just this once, can you please sleep past nine am. _Please_.”

**** “. . . Uh. Okay? But. Can you. Not? Squeeze me so tight?”

**** His eyes shoot open.

**** Oh, _fuck_.

**** He slowly pulls away, and looks up at Eliot guiltily. “I _swear_ there’s an explanation.”

**** Eliot’s brow knits together, before he nods. “O . . . kay. And that is?”

**** “That . . . I need coffee before we have this conversation _again_.”   
  


*

_“You killed Dean Fogg, we’re on the run, because I helped you.”_

  
*

****

“That one looks like Brakebills.”

**** “Don’t be ridiculous, Todd. That one’s an apple.”

  “An apple? _Where_ ? _How_?”

  


*

_“Professor Sunderland tried to make you her sex slave. I found out, helped you escape, and now we’re on the lamb.”_

  


*

  
“Oh my god. You’re ticklish.”

**** “No, I’m not.”

**** “You are. Oh my god.”

**** “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t look at me like that! _No_!”

  


*

  
_"I’m not Todd. You’re not Eliot. We’re robots.”_

 

*

  
  “Come on, Eliot. Dance in the rain with me like a sane person!”

**** “You call this sanity?”

**** “Come on, you know you want to.”

**** “But my _hair_.”

**** “You have _magic_. Just fix it later!”

  


*

****

_“So, how’d your first werewolf transformation go?”_

 

*

  
  “So, yeah. Indiana. If you tell anyone, I will literally set you on fire, and then turn the fire—“

**** “I’m not going to tell, Eliot.”

**** “Okay.”

**** “Okay. So . . . you said you have brothers. What are they like?”

  
  


*

  
_“So the end of the world. This is cool, right?”_

 

*

  
“We are _not having a bonfire_.”

**** “Why not?”

**** “Because I might be inclined to throw you in it.”

**** “Come on, we can be total dorks. Write down our deepest desires or secrets or fears and throw them into the fire!”

**** “Why?”

**** “. . . Why _not_?”

  


*

_“What the fuck is Brakebills? Eliot, are you okay?”_

 

*

**** “I told you. Lady and the Tramp is a must see, and you’ve been missing out.”

**** “Oh forgive me for spending my time doing things that are actually interesting, and _not_ watching Disney movies.”

**** “Admit it. You _liked_ it.”

**** “ _Never_.”

  


*

He doesn’t even know how many days they’ve been at the beach house anymore. All he knows is that with every day they spend here, each day he tries to come up with something more and more outrageous, only to be told he’s uncreative and to try harder next time—

**** It gets harder and harder to convince himself he’s not in love with Eliot.

**** And Eliot being all touchy feely and kind and sassy and wonderful doesn’t _help_.

**** Because this isn’t Eliot. Eliot doesn’t even remember any of it. Eliot wouldn’t even want any of it.

**** He sighs, and sits down at the table, while Eliot cleans up what’s left of dinner. He doesn’t want to go back. God, he never thought he’d find himself in this house and wish to stay here forever, but here he is. Staring up at a man who will never love him, wishing he could spend the rest of their lives here. “We should go back,” He says. It barely comes out, his voice is choked off and hoarse from crying about it in the shower.

**** He just needs to get through it. Then they can go back to Brakebills and he can pretend none of this even happened. He can go back to cookies and movies and never tell Eliot about any of it. And if the spell ever wears off, and Eliot remembers, he’ll just say he was trying to save him the embarrassment of having spent so much time with him.

**** Eliot sets the plates down on the counter and looks down at him. “Oh?” He asks. His mouth forms a small ‘o’ and his eyebrows crease almost painfully as he crosses his arms. “Why?”

**** “Because—uh,” Todd swallows, and looks down at his lap, wringing his hands together. He’d thought through a list of reasons in the shower. But only one of them felt like enough to convince him. “Margo and Quentin could come back. And, uh. Wonder where you are.”

**** “Remind me, who’s Quentin?”

**** “He’s your other best friend.”

**** “Right.” Eliot sighs, deep, and moves to sit across him at the table. “I don’t want to go back. I like it here.”

**** “Eliot—“

**** “With you.”

**** Todd shakes his head, closing his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” He says, forcing all the hope and emotion down as far as they’ll go. “We need to go back. And you won’t even remember it here in the morning. Won’t even remember that you don’t hate me.” He opens his eyes and looks back up at him. “So it’ll be fine.”

**** Eliot’s eyes dart back and forth between Todd’s like he’s trying to make sens  of something, before he leans forward over the table, “Will it?”

**** “Of course.” He wills himself not to cry—how fucking ridiculous is it that he’s so emotional over his feelings that he’s spent three years ignoring?—and offers up his signature Everything’s Great grin, and shrugs a shoulder. “You’ll get your memories back in no time and remember that you don’t even like me being in the same room as you. God knows how you don’t remember that much every morning,” He forces out a little laugh. “So, we should pack and—“

**** “No.”

**** “Look, I know you—“

**** Eliot gets up and moves around the table to kneel in front of him, and whatever words were trying to make their way out of Todd’s mouth, die. “You don’t know anything. Neither do I. That’s why it’s nice here.” He reaches up and grabs Todd’s hands. “Look at the day we had today. We were at least marginally happy—“

**** “Which is why we need to go back. This isn’t real. We— _we_ aren’t real.”

**** “ _You’re_ real.”

**** And this time, he’s almost certain his heart stops in his chest. There have been palpitations and false stops and his hearts beat faster than ever before over however long they’ve been here. But jesus christ, that’s it. This is the one thing he can’t take. He can’t— _handle_ this. He yanks his hands out from Eliot’s and shoves the chair back, stumbling to his feet. “I don’t know what you think—“

**** “I think there’s more to you than I thought. I think—I think that I—“

**** Todd sucks in a breath and twists his hands in the air in front of him and Eliot’s eyes go wide, then slowly slide shut, as his face and muscles relax. He casts a second spell, lets the air around them carefully catch Eliot before he can fall, and uses it to carefully float him over to lie on the couch. He clenches his jaw so tight, the muscles in his neck ache.

**** He watches him, feels the sting returning to his eyes, and quickly wipes at his nose before turning and heading towards his room to pack his bag, and then to Eliot’s to pack his.

**** It’s for the best.

**** The portal’s right on time, and he’s careful not to hurt Eliot on the way through.

  
  


*

The next morning, he takes a deep breath, before carefully making his way down the stairs. He looks through the banister, and is surprised to see Eliot’s already awake, sitting up on the couch, staring at the table in front of him. He stops at the last step, bites down on his bottom lip, and then forces a big grin and moves into the living room.

**** “Oh, hey, Eliot!”

**** Eliot barely takes a second to look up at him, before turning his gaze to the window. “Not now, Todd.”

**** Todd’s grin loses wattage, but still, he moves in closer to stand by the table. There are a couple empty whiskey bottles lying on the floor between the couch and the table. So, he’d missed the freak out and the revelation of sorry-no-alcohol all in one go, fuck. “I just thought we should talk about the demi-god—“

**** “Please, shut the _fuck_ up.” He doesn’t even bother looking at him, but his voice holds more malice and anger than Todd knows what to do with.

**** He staggers back a step. “But I—“

**** Eliot sighs and stands up from the couch. He gives Todd a look so deeply lacking emotion that it actually hurts to look at, before shoving around him and muttering, “My actual friend is missing. And you—I really don’t have the patience to deal with you.”

**** “But—“

**** “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure I can get the answers from someone who’s actually worth my time.”

**** Something in him kind of just . . . Shatters, and he nods. “Yeah, okay,” He says, willing himself not to cry. Because nothing’s happened. Nothing they’ve gone through has happened. Eliot doesn’t care about him. Never has. And he shouldn’t have let himself get so lost in the fucking lie of the beach house. It’s good he got them out. It’s _good_ he brought them back to _reality_. It’s _supposed_ to hurt. “Yeah,” He repeats. “You’re right.” And then he darts past Eliot and up the stairs to go to his room.

**** He’s such a fucking _idiot_.

  


*

  
“ _Eliot_!”

**** Todd jerks awake, eyes going wide, as the shrill voice calls through the house. He swallows down the fear as she calls out the name again; a second familiar voice echoing after her.

**** They’re back.

**** He lies there, waits to see if they call for him, too.

**** They don’t. And eventually they stop calling for Eliot. Figures. He’d never been any of their friends. He’s never meant anything to any of them, least of all to Eliot. He’s just the sap that gets sucked into their drama because he’s too fucking stupid to say no.

  
  


*

He finally leaves his room three days later, when his snack stash has vanished. They’re in the living room, because of course they are. It’s just Quentin and Margo, which doesn’t make much sense, because there’s no way they’d leave a defenseless—ha, who’s he kidding?—Eliot alone. They look up at him as he descends the final step, Quentin glancing back at Margo, and Margo shrugging a single shoulder as she narrows her eyes up at him.

**** "Welcome back,” He mutters, as he makes his way through the living room and heads to the kitchen.

**** Quentin makes a noise. “Jesus—”

**** “Shh,” Margo hushes. Todd hears her before he sees her, her heels clinking against the hardwood floors as she follows him into the kitchen. He grabs a box of cereal from the pantry, and closes the door behind him. Sighing, he stops at the sight of her just standing there with her hands on her hips. He gives her a very tired, poor attempt of a withering glare, and she just rolls her eyes. “You look like shit.”

**** He doesn’t know what she wants, nor does he care. So, he shrugs weakly and turns away from her to head to the refrigerator to grab the milk.

**** “So,” She asks, unimpressed, “What happened while we were gone?”

**** “You were gone?” He glances up at her as he sets the box and the milk on the counter and pulls a bowl out of the cabinet. “I hadn’t noticed. How long’s it been?”

**** “Long enough for you to suddenly turn into—whatever the fuck you’re calling this look.”

**** He sets the bowl on the counter and pulls the silverware drawer open more forcefully than he means to. “Hobo-sheek,” He bites, slamming the drawer closed, and tossing a spoon into his bowl. “What do you _want_ , Margo? Can’t we just go one day without you or someone else making me feel like shit?” He doesn’t know why he’s mad at her. Why he’s snapping at her, when he’s the idiot. When _he’s_ the one who got caught up in a fantasy and lost himself in his own feelings and made himself think Eliot felt the way he feels.

**** All Margo did was give him the keys. He’s the one who unlocked the door to his own doom.

**** “Seems like you’re doing that all by yourself.” She purses her lips and takes a step further into the kitchen. She doesn’t respond, and he just sighs again, turning his attention back on the bowl. He grabs the cereal, glaring down at it as he yanks the top of the box open, unrolls the bag, and then pours it into the bowl. Margo uses the time to move in closer, stopping at the bar counter, and leaning her arms over the edge. He glances up at her from beneath his eyelashes, shakes his head, and then pulls the lid off the milk and pours it into the bowl with the cereal.

**** “So,” She finally says, watching the milk flow into the bowl. “When do I get to meet the baby?”

**** He jerks forward, and milk goes splattering over the countertop. “Fuck,” He hisses, clumsily setting the jug down and reaching up to grab at the roll of paper towels. He stops just shy of wiping up the spill, his brow furrowing as he looks up at her. “Wait. . . _What_ baby?”

**** “No, you’re right, that never happened,” She waves her hand, “Silly me. I meant to ask, do you know when Dean Fogg’s funeral service is?”

**** What the fuck is she talking about?

**** “Margo,” He says, grabbing onto the edge of the counter, and closing his eyes. “Whatever the fuck this is, I really don’t have the energy—“

**** “Or maybe you can tell me how you reattach a dick. Or, god, I don’t know. When Sunderland’s trial is? Or, you know,” She waves a hand as something horrifying and gut wrenching curls up in Todd’s stomach. “How do I know you’re you and not some kind of . . . _robot_?”

**** His hands slide off the edge of the counter, and he juts forward, his hips crashing into the counter. Oh, god. His mouth falls open, and his eyes sting as his vision goes blurry. He can’t even tell if she’s angry. Who’s he kidding? Of course she’s angry. She’s going to fucking _murder_ him. He took advantage of her best friend, and she’s going to tear him apart limb by limb. He inhales shakily, staggering backwards, and holding his hands out in front of him.

**** “Margo,” He says, but the word comes out stuttered and breathy. He can’t—oh, god, he can’t catch a breath. “I—“ his chest is impossibly tight. Is this what it feels like when your heart really stops? Is this a heart attack? Oh, god, he’s having a fucking heart attack.

**** He should have known better. She trusted him to look after Eliot, and instead he took advantage of the situation and desperately sought out friendship and intimacy that he didn’t deserve. He deserves to die. He deserves whatever she’s going to do to him.

**** “Jesus,” She rushes around the counter, a blurry blob of bobbing brown hair, and grabs at his wrists. “Todd, _breathe_.”

**** His jaw trembles as he tries to pull away, shaking his head. His chest’s heaving, and he doesn’t think he can move. Fuck, he’s going to die. “No—I—“

**** “ _Q_!”

**** There’s a rush of footsteps, a quietly muttered, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” and then everything goes black.

  


*

  
He comes to in his own bed. He can’t remember how he got here. But he’s tucked under a blanket, like he’d never even left his room. He blinks, swallowing dryly. The only indication anything’s wrong is the voices muttering on the other side of the room.

**** “Oh fuck you, you’re an idiot.”

**** “I—“

**** “It was a dumb ass plan. I don’t care. _Fix_ it.”

**** There’s a shuffle, like someone’s scraping their shoe against the floor. “I thought he knew that—“

**** “Clearly _not_ , Eliot.” She says his name the way everyone says Todd’s name, and it’s confusing. _Nobody_ says Eliot’s name the way people say Todd’s name.

**** He frowns, furrowing his brow, and shuffling to sit up in his bed. The voices go quiet, and its enough for him to realize his head aches. He sniffles, and looks up in the direction the voices were coming from. His visions blurry, but he’d know them anywhere. Eliot’s too tall, and his hair is blearily disheveled, and Margo’s so much shorter, but she’s so angry it may as well make her ten inches taller. And Quentin. Quentin’s just standing in the doorway, bunched in on himself.

**** “I—,” he tries, smacking his lips because his mouth is so dry. Tries not to focus on the way they’re all just staring at him. Tries to tamp down on the sudden urge to vomit. Tries to make this situation so much less _awful_. “I can explain—I’m so sorry—“

**** Margo turns to Eliot, slaps him on the stomach, and growls, “ _Fix it_!” Before grabbing Quentin and storming out of the room. The door slams behind her a few seconds after they vanish from sight.

**** Todd’s hands shake in his lap, and the tears flood his eyes again as his jaw trembles. “Eliot—I—“

**** “Stop.”

**** “No, please. I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

**** “Todd.”

**** “—I wasn’t trying to take advantage—“

**** “Jesus christ. Is that what you thought—“

**** “I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry—I—“

**** Eliot moves into the room, holds a hand out in front of him. “Todd, _stop_. Please.” Oh god. He doesn’t even want to hear his explanation. Fuck, this couldn’t possibly be any worse. Things had been so much better when he could pretend he wasn’t in love with Eliot. At least then when it came to Eliot hating him, it didn’t feel like a piece of rope had wrapped around his chest and is squeezing as tight as it can.

**** Still, he can’t just let it end like this. Can’t let Eliot think he’s that kind of person. Can’t let him think he’s hurt him on purpose. “I should—I should have stopped it soon—“

**** “Jesus, Todd, I _knew_!”

**** “—er, then—then you wouldn’t hate me so much. You’d hate—“ He stops as Eliot’s words finally register, and his breath hitches. What? “You—knew. What?”

**** Eliot licks his lips and looks up at the ceiling, before shaking his head with a snarl and moving around the side of the bed. Todd flinches away, and Eliot clenches his jaw, before kneeling next to the bed. “I knew.”

**** Todd chin trembles, his brow furrowing. That doesn’t make sense.

**** “No,” He says, holding a hand out, “No, because every—how could you have known—“

**** Eliot reaches up and grabs his hand. “I started remembering things the day I lit Margo’s note on fire. It wasn’t all there yet, obviously. But, yeah.” He squeezes his fingers around Todd’s palm, and takes in a shaky breath. His free hand comes up, but pats at the air blindly like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and it drops back down to his side. “After that, I. I was enjoying—“

**** “Were you just _messing_ with me?”

**** He’d never taken Eliot for cruel. But.

**** “ _No_. God, no.” He raises his eyebrows to emphasise the point, and leans in, “No, Todd. I wasn’t messing with you.”

**** “Then what—“ He stops, shakes his head. “Did you know how I felt about you? Is that why you—“

**** Eliot blinks. “How you felt about me?” He pulls back a bit. “How you . . . Todd if you.” He shakes his head and swallows audibly. “If you had feelings for me, why did you always pull back when I—“

**** “Because I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I knew you’d—you’d get your memories back.” He pries his hand out from Eliot’s and moves to the other side of the bed so he can stand up. He wrings his hands in front of him. “You knew. When you told me to switch everything up.”

**** Eliot looks down at the empty space on the bed, his hand lying in the space Todd vacated. He nods. “Yeah. _Yes_. I wasn’t ready to be me, yet.”

**** “And what about me?”

**** “I wanted to spend time with you.”

**** “ _Why_?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so desperate, and wet as spit and tears and snot go flying with the force of hard he asks. Doesn’t mean for the windows to shake, but sometimes his magic is too hard to control. Too much pressing up against it’s container. Somethings got to overflow.

**** “Because up until that point. I’d never been anything but _cruel_ to you.” He looks up then, and Todd realizes he’s not the only one on the verge of a full breakdown. “And you’d been there for weeks, taking care of me. Looking after me. _Cooking_ for me. I wanted to get to know that version of you, not the one I made up for you in my head. That made you out to be some annoying dipshit.” He lets out a shaking breath and pushes himself up using the bed to balance himself. “I didn’t realize it would go down how it did. And, at the beach—I thought you’d _realized_ , and we were just playing some dumb game of pretend. Because that seemed like something you would _do_.”

**** “But—the other day—“

**** “I was drunk. And angry. I thought you’d _rejected_ me.” He shakes his head, his hair dancing, “Jesus, Todd. I was trying to tell you I was in love with you and you knocked me out, _cold_. Without so much as a _word_.”

**** Todd blinks, his heart jerking angrily in his chest. His mouth falls open.

**** “ _You’re in love with me_?”

**** Eliot gives him the barest of nods.

**** And Todd looks down at the bed.

**** And then pinches himself. Once, twice, three times. And then a fourth for good measure, harder. Makes sure he can feel it _sting_. His gaze jerks back up, and he sniffs. “ _You_. Love. _Me_.”

**** Eliot lets out a watery laugh, nodding his head, “God knows why. But I wouldn’t watch fucking Lady and the Tramp for just anyone. And, I wouldn’t make a fool of myself dancing in the rain, or—god. Look for shapes in the clouds? What sane person over the age of 5 does that shit, Todd?”

**** “I never claimed to be sane?”

**** Eliot laughs again, his chest shaking, “Jesus christ, no, I guess you didn’t. Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair—and if that doesn’t tell Todd that he’s as messed up about this as he is, he doesn’t know what will.

**** “Uh,” He looks down at the ground, then slowly let’s his gaze slide across he bed to look up at Eliot again. “For the record. I—“ he swallows, his throat and mouth still so dry, “I wasn’t rejecting you. I just didn’t want to take advantage of you. I didn’t think you would ever, in your right mind, consider . . .” He furrows his brow and motions between them helplessly. This? Us? How the fuck is he supposed to talk about it?

**** Eliot rolls his eyes, “of course you weren’t rejecting me. Have you met me?”

**** A startled laugh works its way out, “ _Fuck_ , Eliot.”

**** Glancing down at the bed, Eliot shrugs. “You should. Maybe. Come back over here.”

**** “I should?”

**** “Todd,” His gaze flips up to him, “We’re a little too emotional to do anything but. I’m down for some ol’ fashioned cuddling if you are.”

**** His hearts still pounding in his chest, but he carefully climbs up onto the side of the bed; kneels there for a second, eyes flickering between Eliot’s face and where his hand is still pressing into the mattress. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

**** Eliot considers it for a moment. “Considering you’re still shaking,” he says, “I can start as the big spoon, and we can switch it up later.”

**** "Yeah?”

**** “Jesus,” Eliot moves to sit on the bed, “I hate seeing you all sad. It’s not right.” He wrinkles his nose and holds a hand out for him, “I need you to be your usual dopey self.”

**** “You sure you can handle that?”

**** “Honey,” He rolls his eyes and leans across the bed, grabbing Todd’s hand and gently yanking him towards himself. Todd topples forward, reaching out to blindly catch himself before he lands face first into the mattress. “The only one of us who has to worry about not being able to handle the other is you.”

**** The weight he hadn’t realized had settled on his chest lifts, and Todd narrows his eyes at him. “We’ll see,” he says, before clumsily climbing over the blankets until he can curl up against Eliot’s side. He moves to let go of Eliot’s hand so he can wrap his arm around Eliot’s waist, but Eliot rolls his eyes.

**** “No,” he says, adjusting their hands until he’s lacing their fingers together.

**** Todd stares down at their hands for a long moment.

**** “Is this real?” And if it comes out more as an awed whisper than as a joke, Eliots kind enough not to point it out.

**** Instead he chuckles and says, “Probably not, knowing our lives, in like, five seconds, someone’s gonna come crashing through that door and alert us to the next big emergency.”

**** “Damn,” Todd breathes, scooting down so he can rest his head on Eliot's chest. Which, hey, holy fuck _there’s_ a thing he never thought he’d do. “Kind of regretting leaving the beach house now.”

**** Eliot presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We could run away before anyone remembers us.”

**** “You wouldn’t do that.”

**** “Ew. You _do_ know me.”

**** Todd grins, and turns his head to look up at him. “I mean. I’ve got a couple months of getting to know you under my belt.”

**** Eliot wags his eyebrows, “You could have something else under your belt, just say the word, and daddies going to town.”

**** “Please tell me you don’t actually have a daddy kink.”

**** He just smirks and leans in, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

**** “Just to be clear are you about to kiss me—“

**** “Yes, Todd. Now, do me a favor and shut up.”

**** Something warm dances around in Todd’s chest and he laughs, his eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah," He sighs happily. "You were right.”

**** Eliot huffs, pressing his forehead against Todd’s. “About?”

**** “I do like it when you tell me what to do.”

**** He feels Eliot smile, when the curve of his cheeks graze against Todd’s. “Mm, kinky. I likey.”

**** And then they’re both moving in. It’s not perfect as far as first kisses go—their lips are chapped, and it tastes like salt and Todd’s sure he’s got dried snot on his upper lip—but neither of them mind. Todd sure as fuck doesn’t. And he doesn’t think Eliot does either, because when Todd fists his fingers in Eliot’s vest, his breath hitching, he just smiles into the kiss and pulls him in tighter.

  


*

**** A few days later, they’re sitting in the living room, enjoying some of the rare ‘no emergency looming’ time, when Penny looks at them, then the rest of the group and frowns.

**** “So . . . We _like_ Todd now?”

**Author's Note:**

> Uploaded on the down low at work, I'll fix formatting later when I get off work.


End file.
